


The Testing

by Ambrosya Sylva (Ambrosya)



Series: Lessons [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Maledom/Femsub, mild-to-moderate overtones of BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-17
Updated: 2010-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosya/pseuds/Ambrosya%20Sylva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When propositioned by young lady Cousland, Duncan says yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Testing

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: I was slightly disconcerted by how casually the f!Cousland PC goes from trying to pick up Duncan to trolling for other bedmates, and wanted to explore the character a little more to examine that behavior. In the process, I decided to gratify my Duncan fetish, since he's been pushing all kinds of yummy subby buttons for me since my first play through.
> 
> I have not read _The Calling_, so my characterization of Duncan is simply taken from what I have inferred from my experiences in the game. And yes, I know there's some debate about the meaning of the earring, but for my storytelling purposes, he's heterosexual.
> 
> I may have also messed with the timeline of how things went down that evening a bit. From the in-game dialogue it seems as though Duncan isn't available that evening to continue their talk, since he immediately suggests the next day, but then, he never actually says WHAT he's going to be doing that evening.
> 
> I did have a beta reader for this, but she began experiencing computer difficulties after the first draft, so any errors that made their way into the work on subsequent drafts are entirely my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: Naturally, I do not own the characters nor the world of Ferelden. They belong to BioWare.

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm, it would be...inappropriate for me to be in your chambers unescorted."

Duncan saw the young lady's eyes flick ever so briefly in her father's direction. Her softly-spoken invitation had been timed just perfectly for the moment after her father had interjected his say into her conversation with the Warden, and then dismissed the discussion and drifted off to attend to his own matters. Only now did Duncan recognize the deliberate subtlety with which she had brought her father's attention to her inquiries regarding the Grey Wardens so that he might conclude the rest of the conversation was more of the same.

_I was too hasty in declining my Right of Conscription_. He chastised himself for being excessively conciliatory; now he was honor-bound to keep his word. Yet he needed a recruit with a deft hand at diplomacy to groom to take his place, and soon. None of the Wardens currently in Ferelden had any real talent for that sort of maneuvering.

Duncan met her smile with equanimity. Apparently, she was undaunted by his refusal; she rather looked amused. "Do the Grey Wardens really trouble themselves overmuch on matters of propriety, then?" she inquired with charming impertinence. "I wouldn't have thought so."

"And why would we not?" he asked, drawn back into the conversation with her despite his attempts to extricate himself. He calculated the risks of continuing this dialogue. Should her father once again begin paying attention, Duncan might find himself unceremoniously ejected from the castle. But if he should be fortunate enough to obtain her parents' consent to recruit her, having an idea of her expectations of life among the Wardens would not be a bad thing.

"Because the Wardens live every day much closer to death than the common lot," she replied, as though the answer were self-evident. "I've seen it here, in these last few days as our soldiers prepare themselves to depart for Ostagar. Those without husbands or wives or lovers spend more time drinking in the tavern, gambling and patronizing the prostitutes therein. Those with lovers spend more time abed. I expect we shall see a greater number of babes than usual born here in Highever next year. Amongst the Grey Wardens..." she gave an elegant shrug, "I should imagine staring death in the face every day makes mundane principles such as propriety seem rather insignificant."

Pleased with her answer and her understanding, Duncan gave her a small smile. "We are not so hedonistic as all that. There is a discipline that must be maintained, after all. Still, I suppose that in essentials, you aren't far from the truth. Perhaps, then, 'inappropriate' was not the correct word. Let us say, rather, 'impolitic.'"

"Ah," her lips puckered slightly and turned downward in a small, thoughtful frown. "Yes, I suppose it would not do to run the risk of offending the nobility. If I recall my history lessons correctly, it wasn't so very long ago that the Grey Wardens were in a particularly bad odor here in Ferelden."

"Indeed. Take your guest, Arl Howe, as an example. For all his professed concern over his lack of time to observe the prescribed protocols my visit here should entail, his body language says he is either afraid or angry. Since I can see no reason for him to fear my presence here, however, I must assume that his reaction was actually born of annoyance, and that he is not a great admirer of the Grey Wardens and their cause."

Aedina nodded slowly. "Yes, I can see the problem. It's a precarious situation. Tithes would dry up, recruits would become scarce, and you'd quickly find yourself on the wrong side of many a lowered portcullis should you gain an..." her eyes twinkled in an impish smile, while her voice dropped to a purr, "..._unfortunate_ reputation as a debaucher of noblemen's daughters."

For all his self-restraint, Duncan felt the stirring of desire at her words. He realized he now wanted this girl as more than simply a recruit. Her candor, her ability to proposition him with such genteel frankness, were both fascinating and arousing. She was direct without being blunt, aggressive without being brash, wanton without being whorish. A well-honed blade sheathed in velvet. It had been too long, and there were far too few women among the Grey Wardens. He wanted her.

With iron-clad discipline, he repressed the vivid mental image she had evoked. "You have a keen grasp of politics, I see, as well as being an accomplished fighter. Unfortunately, my point remains. Taking you up on your offer, which is exceedingly generous and extremely intriguing, would not be in the best interest of my mission."

Duncan was scarcely less surprised than she at his unexpected admission of temptation. She was studying him closely when, from across the hall where he had wandering in conference with Howe and his Captain of the Guard, Teyrn Cousland suddenly called out, "Pup, are you still pestering Duncan? I've made a request of you, now obey, before I rethink my confidence in you."

Her smile never faltered, though her eyes flashed. "Yes, Father. Thank you, Duncan, for such an...enlightening conversation. Perhaps we can continue soon?"

It was that that flash of rebellion, so quickly sublimated by duty, that decided the matter. He needed to test this girl, and he'd foolishly relinquished his right to do it by conventional means. Desire aside, he needed to know what she was made of.

Giving her a slight bow, he caught her eye. "Your mother, being the excellent hostess she is, has appointed me a very private chamber away from the family and guest quarters. It is not far from the barracks, so that I might have easier access to any of the guardsmen I wished to test for recruitment. When I travel to recruit, I always bring some light tomes and scrolls on the history of notable Wardens with me. I shall no doubt be retiring to my chamber after supper and the departure of the troops, providing your father no longer needs to confer with me. With most of the troops leaving this evening, you should be undisturbed in that part of the keep. If you wish to...inquire further into the matter we have been discussing, you will find the answer you seek there. Help yourself to whatever you may find there, and I will hope to see you this evening."

For the first time, surprise touched her face, and her genteel amusement fled. Her eyes serious and intent, she curtsied and took her leave.

 

* * * * *

 

She was there. As the evening had progressed, he'd wondered whether she would be. Supper had seen her politely flirting with a young man in the dining hall, the son of her mother's guest. Darrien, that was the name. The lad had seemed enchanted, and eager to please her. Duncan found himself wondering how much of the offer she had extended was simply whimsy; a beautiful young woman just discovering her ability to captivate men, testing her powers of seduction on any convenient target. If Duncan hadn't agreed, would she then have invited the young nobleman to her bed instead? Ever so often her eyes would slide past the youth to meet Duncan's gaze where he sat beside Teyrn Cousland discussing the march to Ostagar, but her politely attentive smile to whatever young Darrien was saying offered him no answers.

The room near the barracks offered nowhere near the luxury of the regular guest chambers of the Cousland estate, but its minimalist appointments suited Duncan well, and it afforded a degree of privacy that turned out to be most fortuitous. By the time his conference with the Teyrn was ended, Duncan could feel the sharp prodding of impatience, kept tightly under control but nonetheless chafing. He'd been celibate too long. There were, as yet, no female Wardens in Ferelden, and it had been years since he'd been to Orlais or Weisshaupt. Men were simply not his preference--unfortunately, he sometimes thought, for he knew a few of the Wardens under his command kept company with one another--and his slightly fastidious nature found whores distasteful. No, he wanted the Cousland girl. Quite urgently, as it turned out.

He needn't have wondered. She was there, sitting at the rough table with her shoes off and her feet tucked up beneath her on the chair, reading a small tome on the history of Garahel. She set the book aside and rose, once more giving him that confident, assured half-smile, as though she had never doubted his acquiescence to her proposition.

The smile suddenly irritated him. He didn't want her sanguine, didn't want her to be sure of him in any regard. Closing the door and dropping the bolt, he crossed the chamber in a single stride and, grabbing her shoulders, pushed her back against the wall and was devouring her mouth before the startled gasp had cleared her lips and the clattering of the chair knocked over to the floor had stopped echoing off the stone walls. With her body trapped between his and the wall, he released her shoulders and his hands closed ungently over her clothed breasts. His unrelenting kiss suffocated the moan that rose from her throat until she wrenched her mouth away, her breathing ragged.

His thigh worked its way between hers, encumbered by the straight skirt of the gown she'd worn to dinner, and he took her face in one hand and forced her head to turn back toward him, compelled her to meet his eyes.

"Why are you here?" he growled.

A slight frown of confusion touched her face, and she rose up on her toes, reaching for him, "Because I want you."

He evaded her hands, still gripping her jaw, and used his weight to pin her more tightly against the wall. "No! Why are you here?"

"You mean, is this all merely some bored noblewoman's whim?" she asked in that insincere, flirtatious tone as the mask slipped smoothly over her face. She gathered herself, passion and confusion quickly disappearing beneath an arched brow and a coolly amused smile.

He shook her then, his fingers tightening on her chin. He kissed her again, fiercely, until the mask had fled and the raw expression of need returned, then he ripped himself away, his eyes boring into hers.

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

Anger, now. Her eyes snapped, and she struggled against his immovable grip. Unable to win her release, she spat, "Because I'm meant for greater things than to exchange endless empty flirtations with noblemen's insipid sons until one day out of sheer boredom I consent to be some insipid nobleman's wife."

"Then it's glory you seek? Or simply a grand adventure?"

"No!" she answered with a contemptuous sneer. "I couldn't care less if I die with my name unsung by the minstrels. 'Tis not glory I yearn for, nor adventure," she quieted her struggles against his hold and met his eyes with honesty for the first time. "'Tis purpose."

Pleased with her answer, Duncan released her and stepped back, his hands raised, palms open, as if demonstrating he held no weapon, or meant no harm. He placed careful emphasis on his next words, for it was vital to him that she understand them. "_This_ is not necessary to convince me to consider you as a recruit. I would do that regardless."

"I know that," she stiffened, affronted. "You do not strike me as a man who abuses his power. And I am no whore, bartering her body to achieve her ends."

"Then why are you here?" he asked again, kindly this time.

"Because I choose to be."

She stood there against the wall, appearing uncertain for the first time since he'd met her. Never taking his eyes from her, he began the slow process of removing his weapons and armor, unwrapping the belts that held the scabbards on his back in place, releasing the buckles of his breastplate and greaves and bracers. He was nearly down to the long robe worn beneath the breastplate when she stirred and began unlacing her gown.

She had just finished loosening the laces by the time Duncan was divested of everything but the robe and his underclothes. His impatience spurred him into action. He wanted her beyond control, wanted her need, her urgency to rival his. If she left with him, if she underwent the Joining, he might never have the chance again. If she survived, she would be subtly but irrevocably changed. Either way, this clever, carefree, daring young woman before him would cease to be.

Before that happened, he hungered to possess her, to feel her surrender all that raw potential and power, to shape them to his own will, just for a while. Not to diminish her--never that--but to free her from her own need to act, to control. He wanted to see her wild, unrestrained. He wanted to unleash with her the savagery he kept so tightly contained.

He spun her around abruptly, holding her once more against the wall as he stripped the gown off her shoulders and past her hips with controlled but impatient jerks. What skin he bared, he tasted, sucking, biting. His beard chafed her neck and shoulders. His hands slid between her body and the wall, up from her waist to cup her breasts, sword-calloused palms kneading, his fingertips gently pinching and plucking her nipples.

Unaccustomed to passivity, she writhed, arching to press her breasts into his hands, while reaching back over her head in an effort to touch him. She gave a low whimper of frustration at his refusal to allow her to turn around, which evolved into a long moan of pleasure when one of his hands traveled lower to dip between her thighs. His fingers slid through wet, springy curls and began to move in rapid circles over the hard knot of nerves.

Her questing hands could find no better occupation than to grasp his hair as her knees threatened to buckle. Duncan supported her weight against his chest with the arm around her ribs, so that she was stretched out against him, open to his hands. Her hips began to rock impatiently with the hard, fast rhythm of his fingers and he could feel her body tense and relax as she moved closer to her climax in surges.

A guttural moan rose up from her throat and grew louder. Duncan's fingers closed over her nipple, pinching, and his teeth nipped the junction of her shoulder and neck firmly. In that instant, with that tiny addition of pain, her entire body bucked, and a strangled cry wrenched itself from her throat, leaving her limp and stunned when it had passed. Her weight rested against him as she caught her breath with ragged gasps.

After a long moment, Duncan released her. She turned to face him as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, tasting her. As she watched, he shed his robe and undergarments, running his hand up the length of his erection. He reached for her again, and at the pressure of his hands, she sank to her knees. The wet heat of her mouth engulfed him.

Duncan's head fell back and his jaw clenched. The urge was strong to spend himself in a rush now, and take his time later. The things she was doing with her lips and tongue could surely undo the Maker himself! But he could not keep her all night, he knew; she would need to return to her chambers before she was missed. He had but one opportunity, and he reined in the wayward impulse to waste it.

His hands burrowed in her hair, pulling her head closer. Duncan wondered where he might find the boundaries of her resolve. He thrust into her mouth, relenting only when she began to struggle. He allowed her to pull away, to catch her breath, then guided her mouth back to him with inexorable insistence. Her lips parted and he waited as she caressed him with her tongue, sucking lightly, and took him into her mouth again.

He took control, dictating the speed and rhythm and depth. Rather than resist, she rose to the challenge, taking deep breaths when he pulled back before pressing forward once more, consciously relaxing, opening wider, taking him deeper. When he hit the back of her throat, her body tensed, her hands pushing at his hips as she attempted to pull away. He held her only an instant longer, then released her until she recovered, only to take hold of her head and repeat the act until at last she pleaded with him to pause.

He watched her there on her knees, her head bowed, her shoulders rising and falling as she took slow, deep breaths. Then gently he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. She looked pale, her hair wild, and she rocked unsteadily there on her knees. But when his gaze captured her eyes, they were eager and unalarmed.

"I am no fumbling youth," he said gravely. "I know my desires, and they are not always gentle. If you stay, I shall have you as I choose, and I will not be dissuaded merely by a sweet smile."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Are you deliberately trying to intimidate me?"

"Why would I wish to do that?" he asked, caressing that beautiful face. The strained expression was fading, replaced by a calculating look. Always, _always_, that keen mind was working, and he felt admiration and pride temper his desire for a moment.

"To test me. You believe my desire to be genuine enough, but you know nothing of my commitment. After all, if you're going to risk a Teyrn's ire--whether by bedding his daughter, or recruiting her to the Grey Wardens against his will--you want to make sure she's worth the effort."

"In that, you're wrong. Had I not already made that determination, you would not be here." Taking her by the upper arms, he pulled her to her feet. "Should you leave with me to undergo the Joining, you'll find yourself confronted with situations where you will be asked to undertake trials not knowing what danger may be in store for you, to face the unknown unflinching. Once you commit, there is no going back."

Still holding her by her arms, he propelled her, backward, to the edge of the bed, his eyes locked with hers. "I offer you no certainty, either in my bed or with the Wardens. Do you wish to remain?"

"Yes," Aedina answered resolutely.

He gave her a gentle push and she fell backward upon the bed. She crawled backward the rest of the way onto the mattress and then he was there, looming over her. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes moved over her body, taking in every detail; the muscles of her arms and abdomen toned from hours of daily combat practice, a scar on her upper arm and another across her ribs where even blunted practice blades and padded armor had not managed to deter an accidental injury. No wilting flower, this young noblewoman, afraid of getting her hair mussed. When she committed to a bout, she did so full-contact.

He began by kissing the scar on her ribs, paying honor to the fearlessness that had brought her to him. He licked and sucked the uneven and imperfect skin while she writhed and complained that it tickled. The scar on her arm got similar treatment, his attentions this time drawing soft sighs from her lips as his mouth moved up over her shoulder and neck. Her arms slid around Duncan's shoulders and he kissed her then, slowly, thoroughly, without the violent passion of before. His tongue dipped into her mouth, caressing her own. He gently bit her lips and sucked on them, until her mouth appeared swollen and bruised. He nibbled her ear, drawing the lobe between his teeth, his beard scratching her neck. Her hands caressed his arms and shoulders, then tangled in the hair that had come loose from his queue.

He kissed his way down her neck, placed light bites along the ridge of her collarbone, then cupping the underside of one breast in his hand, he bent his head and drew the nipple into his mouth. She arched beneath him, sighing, and her hands moved restlessly, seeking something to grasp, something to caress. When she attempted to draw him closer, he pulled away, capturing her eyes with his own, staring at her impassively as she frowned and reached for him again. He caught her wrists in his hands, holding them firmly when she struggled to free herself from his grasp. Her eyes darkened and she doubled her efforts, fighting against his immovable grip on her wrists, testing him.

Leaning his weight into the effort, Duncan pinned her hands against the bed beside her head. He stared into her eyes, daring her to fight him. Aedina growled at him, attempting to buck him off and in response, his mouth plummeted down to hers in a crushing kiss, forcing her lips to open to his tongue, his beard chafing as his mouth ground against hers. He thrust his knee between her thighs and pressed his thigh into the junction of hers. Still she struggled, snarling defiance into his mouth. Duncan found himself surprisingly put to task to restrain her, despite his advantage in position and size. Tearing his mouth from hers, he transferred one of her slim wrists to his other hand, and holding them both in an iron grasp, slammed her arms back onto the bed above her head, stretching her out as though on a rack. At the same time, he ground his thigh roughly against her sex.

Her defiance abandoned her, a moan rising from her lips. Her eyes broke their unyielding contact with his to flutter closed, her head falling back against the bed. The tension left her body, her struggle ended. Satisfied that she had made him earn her acquiescence, she yielded.

Still holding her arms above her head, his other hand closed over her breast roughly, squeezing the flesh and pinching the nipple to the very brink of pain, ceasing only when she cried out in protest. He bit her shoulder, carefully, branding her with an shallow imprint of his teeth. He removed his weight from her, rolling off to the side without releasing her wrists. His free hand abandoned her breast to dip between her parted thighs and without warning, he plunged his fingers inside her. One, two, then three, quickly, giving her little chance to adjust between.

Her body writhed and her head whipped from side to side, and she moaned loudly, stretching to accommodate the long, calloused fingers. He allowed her only a moment to adapt before he withdrew his fingers and thrust them inside again, slick with her fluids. Within the tight sheath, he crooked his fingers, pressing against the spongy tissue behind her pubic bone. She nearly came off the bed, thrashing and crying out. He leaned his weight onto her, holding her immobile and repeated the motion. And again. And again, massaging that spot until finally he wrenched a hoarse scream of pleasure from her throat before she collapsed back onto the bed, panting, a sheen of sweat upon her skin.

When he released her wrists, she made no effort to move, but lay as if dazed. He licked the sweat from her shoulders, her neck, her upper lip. Duncan kissed her again, gently, deeply, and she melted into the kiss, her tongue dancing with his. After a moment he felt a light touch at his shoulder, her fingers tentatively caressing, as though seeking permission. He made no move to stop her, but kissed her deeper still, then tipping his head back when she pressed kisses down his jaw and neck, over his shoulders and chest. She tasted his skin with small darts of her tongue, drew a shudder from him when she licked and sucked his nipples. Her hands traced the corded muscles of his shoulders, his back, his upper arms.

At length, he pressed her backwards onto the bed once more, and she complied. He moved over her and lifted her knee, guiding her leg up over his hip as he fitted his body to hers and pressed forward, sinking into her.

Her soft, melodic moan filled his ears as the heat of her surrounded him, embraced him. With soft whimpers and sighs she adjusted, wrapped around him. Her muscles repeatedly clenched lightly then released. When she relaxed, he began to move, sliding slowly out, only to surge forward until he was seated even deeper, filling her.

Words of pleasure, of encouragement, of entreaty fell from her lips as he increased his pace. He gripped her hips tightly, slammed forward abruptly, and set a merciless rhythm accompanied by her crescendoing cries.

Her deceptively strong hands gripped his shoulders with bruising force, her fingernails scored his back as he hammered into her. The motion drove her up the bed inch by inch, until she was in danger of hitting her head on the stone wall behind the pillows. He sat back on his heels and pulled her up so that she straddled his thighs. He thrust up with his hips, filling her as she twined her arms around his shoulders and sank down upon him. He pressed her back against the wall and braced his hands on the stones as he surged upward to meet her. He slowed their pace, drawing their union out. Her harsh cries gave way to soft, mewling moans each time she settled fully onto him.

Only when he felt himself approaching the brink did Duncan stop, still seated deeply within her. He rested his face in the crook of her neck and panted until he felt his body retreat from that precipice. Now they were both slicked with sweat; tendrils of her hair clung to his face when he lifted his head from her shoulder. He kissed her again, drinking in the taste and scent of her.

He bent his head to her breasts and in turn took her nipples into his mouth, licking gently, sucking, nibbling. When she relaxed, he took one nipple between his fingers and deliberately pinched hard. Her entire body went rigid, her expression hovering somewhere between the edge of pleasure and the threshold of pain, her muscles clenching around him. When he let go, she melted against him, whimpering softly, nuzzling his ear. He repeated the pinch with the other nipple and she arched away, her head thrashing, her mouth open in a wordless, gasping cry. Again, he relented and the tension left her body. Her hips shifted as she wrapped her arms around him and collapsed against him, pressing kisses on her shoulders. A sudden surge in his body told Duncan his control was nearing its end and he gave a rumbling groan.

Abruptly he twisted around, carrying her with him and spilling her onto her back on the bed. In a single movement, he hooked his arms beneath her knees and pressed them up against her chest as he drove home. Releasing his last bit of restraint, he thrust into her with all his force, again, and again. Her sharp cries were drown out by the roaring in his own ears and with a final low moan, he poured himself into her and sank into the tangled embrace of her limbs.

Long, silent moments passed, punctuated by harsh, jagged breaths and slow movements as they shifting into a more comfortable position. Duncan met her eyes, concerned that he might have hurt her at the end when he lost himself, but her expression was content, untroubled. She gave him the first genuine smile he'd seen from her; not the glittering, charming mask she habitually wore, but one of languid warmth and kindness. At length, she began to rise.

"I must go," she murmured, seeming at a loss for what to say.

Before she could leave the bed, Duncan drew her back and kissed her one last time, tenderly, sweetly. A kiss of gratitude, a kiss of farewell.

"I assume," she said with a regretful expression, "that once I leave it must be as though this never happened?"

"For now that will be for the best," Duncan replied solemnly. "I will not say it may never happen again. In truth, it is much as you surmised earlier. The life of a Grey Warden offers no promises for the future, and moments of joy and pleasure are too few and too precious to waste in the face of such unpredictability."

She rose from the bed and dressed, unabashed under his intent stare. She stretched, wincing slightly, then asked with irrepressible mischief, "Are all Wardens so...vigorous?"

He laughed then, allowing himself to be drawn in by her charm. "That, my dear Lady Cousland, will be entirely up to you to discover or not, as you please."

"Hmm," she pondered as she opened the door. "I think I shall very much like being a Grey Warden."

 

End


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